


Steele

by Apostat3



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Detective Noir, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fantasy, Monologue, Original Character(s), Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 03:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18908812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apostat3/pseuds/Apostat3
Summary: Detective spirals himself down the depression hole about all his mistakes.





	Steele

_ [The setting is messy; half-office, half-bedroom, with a dingy atmosphere and what little lighting there is being moonlight creeping through closed shutters onto an old wooden desk. The desk is haphazard, covered in various folders, books and pieces of paper which are strewn across it. Sitting behind the desk is John Steele, a rugged, tired looking man in his mid 20’s. He wears a dirty white shirt with the top few buttons undone and a red tie which hangs low, just below where the opening of his shirt closes. His hair is blonde but, even though he is in his youth, it greying around the temples. He has a shadow of a beard, stubble allowed to grow through neglect. His arms have several scars on them, from bottles and other improvised wooden tavern weaponry being broken over them. He sits leaning in over a book, studying its contents carefully. He does not look up from his book initially as he begins to speak. His set occupies the right half of the stage, which is lit with blue-tinted lights and backlight, to resemble the night. The sounds of rain can be heard.] _

 

_ [He sighs.]  _ It's easier to work alone when you're a bad man; when there's no one around to see your sins…  _ [He fiddles with his hands idly on the table] _ I've been alone for a long time now and…  _ [He heaves a sort of chuckle and smiles a sad, knowing smile.] _ well, I ain't exactly been no Saint, neither.

 

_ [He closes the books and leans back in his seat, looking up at the audience.]  _ It's a funny thing, responsibility. Some men crave it, to feel important; some men fear it, runnin’ from the burden that's too heavy to bear. Me?  _ [He scoffs] _ Well, I… I'm somewhere in the middle. It terrifies me, that's for damn sure. But I know nobody ain't gonna take it on for me. In the end, someone's gotta be responsible for the shit we do, don't they? Seems fittin’ it'd be me.  _ [He looks away, over towards the closed windows.] _

 

We're bad folks, you and me. Rotten right down to the core. Real bad news… But it's just like a lady I knew once told me: “We can't change who we were, but we can always choose who we will be”....  _ [He lets out a single, heavy chuckle and shakes his head.]  _  Hey, I know. It pains me to even vocalise such a steaming pile of fresh horseshit. But it's full of hope, that stupid idea…  _ [He sighs again, heavier this time.] _ and maybe hope's what we've been missing for so long. 

 

_ [He leans on the desk, looking back toward the audience.]  _ Hope's a funny old thing, don't you think? Stating that I should abandon listening to my sharp mind when it tells me how endlessly unforgiving my existence is and instead to ride on the high of some batshit idea that things might magically get better in some wonderful turn of fate.  _ [He smiles a wicked looking smile.] _ Poppycock, I say. Complete bollocks. But some days…  _ [His smile fades and he gazes over to a door on the other side of the room, at the far right of the stage, for a moment, before turning his attention back to the audience.] _ don't you just look at 'er and just have to believe? For once in my miserable life, isn't it nice to believe in someone?

 

I ain't never had anyone to believe in before.  _ [He counts the list items on his fingers as he goes, absently raising them.] _ Parents: dead; orphanage: shite; criminals…  _ [He laughs dryly.]  _  well, criminals. Most certainly never put any faith in myself. It'll be a cold day in hell when a murderin’, thievin’, son-of-a-bitch like me deserves any faith.  _ [His speech becomes faster, more passionate.] _ Because let's not forget, amongst all this optimistic jargon, that I'm a killer. A liar. A thief and a general harbinger of misfortune. Five long years as a private eye for the worst scum in the city will make that of a man. I've seen more than my fair share of dead bodies, public killings and broken families.  _ [He pauses for a moment, glancing down at himself just to break eye contact for a second. When his gaze comes back up, it seems far away.] _ If I'm honest, I don't know why this one is special. Maybe it's because this one was my fault? I always wanted to make a mark on the world after all; to be something. What's a more persevering legacy than two dead parents and a little girl who… with… yeah.  _ [He swallows heavily and looks back towards the door again.] _ It's certainly a legacy, ain't it? A testimony to the kind of man I was. 

 

That's just what she told me, though, ain't it? That don't have to be me…  _ [He sits up straight in his chair and addresses the audience, looking less defeated than before.] _ and you know what? Maybe she's right. I'm a detective, ain't I? A smart man. What's holding me back? A target on my back and a child who don't even remember. I've worked with less. Nothing if not resourceful, eh?  _ [He smiles wryly.] _ After all, I looked after myself this long, how much harder can an amnesiac little one be? Just so long as we keep trying, huh? Keep trying…  _ [He pauses and takes a few slow breaths.] _ I am trying, you know? I wonder if she knows that..?  _ [After a moment of silence, he suddenly laughs, short and sharp.]  _ Nevermind. Of course she don’t. She can’t remember shit ‘cause of me...

 

_ [He runs his hand over his face wearily and sinks back into his seat.]  _ But it don't really matter, does it? Because she's not right. She’s wrong. One thing I've learned in this world: people don't change. Not me, not you, not anyone. Best thing for it is, when she's healthy enough or old enough, to send her as far away from me as possible. That's… [ _ sigh.] _ that's the least I can do for her. The least she deserves…

 

_ [He stands from his desk and throws on a worn tan trench coat and straightens his tie.]  _ Look, I've got places to be, and there's nothing more to say here. Believe what you like, but I know what I know. I've already said too much here, anyway,  _ [He mutters to himself] _ mouthy fuck I am… For now, let's just forget it. Case closed, as they say. One thing I know; people don’t change, and that’s that.  _ [He walks off towards the exit, but pauses for a moment as he passes the door he kept glancing at before continuing.] _

  
  



End file.
